Everyone Knows I Did It; The Boy Next Door

Nevaeh’s POV

I didn't kill Brody Vance, but according to the red paint smeared across my locker, the whole school had already found me guilty.

The word MURDERER dripped down my locker. I stood in the middle of the crowded hallway, my backpack slipping from my shoulder. 

Everyone around me had stopped. They were whispering, pointing, and staring at me like I was some kind of monster they had never seen before.

The heat in my cheeks was almost unbearable. I wanted to turn and run, to hide somewhere until the halls cleared, but my feet felt glued to the floor.

"Look at her," a girl muttered, not even trying to lower her voice. "She’s actually acting surprised. Like she didn't know it was coming."

It had been three days since Brody vanished. Three days since he cornered me behind the gym, his grip tight on my wrist, and I finally snapped. 

I had screamed at him in front of half the school, telling him that if he didn't stay away from me, I would make him regret it. The next morning, his car was found empty by the side of the road. And just like that, the entire town decided I was the one who made him disappear.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached out to grab my history book from my locker, but a hand slammed the door shut before my fingers could even touch the lock.

I flinched, looking up to see Mason Cole’s two best friends standing over me. They didn't say a word. They just stood there, their expressions full of quiet, burning anger. 

As I tried to step around them to just walk away, one of them shoved his shoulder hard into mine. The force sent me stumbling backward, and my books tumbled out of my hands, scattering across the floor.

The hallway went dead silent. Nobody stepped forward to help me. Dozens of students just watched, waiting to see if I would break down or start yelling. 

I felt a stinging behind my eyes, but I forced the tears back down. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. I bent down, gathered my things with shaking hands, and walked away as fast as I could.

"Nevaeh, wait up a second."

I stopped just outside the main office. Sheriff Miller was standing near the doorway, his uniform looking worn and his face completely exhausted. He just gestured for me to follow him into an empty classroom nearby.

I did, my heart hammering against my ribs the whole way.

He shut the door behind us, cutting off the noise from the hallway, and sat on the edge of the teacher's desk.

"Sit down, Nevaeh," he said quietly.

"I'd rather stand," I replied, holding my books tightly against my chest like a shield. "Am I in trouble?"

"People are getting very restless," Miller said, watching me with a calm, steady gaze that made me feel completely exposed. "Mason's friends are looking for someone to hurt. Chloe is crying in the counselor's office every single hour. This town wants answers, and right now, you're the only one who has a reason to want Brody gone. I'm trying to help you, but you have to work with me. Did you see him after school that day?"

"No," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I told you. I went straight home. I didn't touch him, Sheriff. Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Because threats have consequences, kid," Miller said softly, his voice full of a cold, quiet pity. "I don't have enough to lock you up, but I'm not going to stop looking. Every path you walk, I'm going to be right there watching. Just keep that in mind."

I left the room feeling like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't sit through classes with everyone staring at the back of my head, waiting for me to slip up. I walked straight out the front doors of the school and didn't stop until I reached my front porch.

But my house didn't feel any safer.

When I stepped into the living room, the quietness of the house settled over me. Martha was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, while Thomas stood by the kitchen window. Neither of them turned to look at me. 

"The neighbors are talking," Martha said, her voice completely flat. "Mrs. Gable wouldn't even look at me when I walked down the driveway to get the mail today. They think we are harboring a killer."

"I didn't do anything, Martha," I said, my voice trembling as I stood in the doorway. "Some boys shoved me at school today. The police are follow—"

"We don't want to hear it," Thomas interrupted, finally turning his head to glare at me. "We took you into this house when you had nothing, Nevaeh. We gave you a roof over your head. And now, you're dragging our family name through the mud. We had a long talk with your school counselor this afternoon. You're staying home from now on. And we aren't paying for your phone bill anymore. We shouldn't have to spend our hard-earned money to fund the trouble you're bringing to us."

The coldness of his words felt like a slap. They didn't care if I was scared. They didn't care that the whole town hated me. They only cared about how it made them look.

"I understand," I whispered.

I turned around and ran up the stairs, locking my bedroom door behind me. I threw my bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands. 

I wrapped my body together, I felt completely abandoned, trapped in a house where I was treated like an unwanted curse, and a town that wanted to throw me in a cell.

My room was freezing, and the silence was even worse than the shouting. I needed a distraction, so I pulled back the curtain to look out at the street.

Across the road, the lights were on in Xavi Moreau’s house. He was standing on his porch, leaning against the railing. He was tall, with a sharp jawline and messy dark hair, and he looked completely calm. 

As I watched, he slowly turned his head. His pitch-black eyes locked onto my window, and he didn't blink. He just stared at me, his gaze so intense and still that I felt my skin crawl.

I pulled the curtain shut, my heart racing, and hid under my blanket.

I laid there for hours, listening to the wind against the glass. I was just about to drift off when a snap echoed from the yard below. It sounded like a branch breaking under someone's weight.

I got up and crept toward the window, pulling the curtain back just an inch.

Down on our lawn, a dark figure was standing in the shadows. They were wearing a hood, their face completely hidden. They weren't moving at all, just looking up at my room.

My phone buzzed in my hand, making me gasp. I looked down at the screen, and my blood turned to ice.

Don't look at the window, Nevaeh. They are watching you.